April 12, 2013

I want to make poems that say right out, plainly,what I mean, that don't go looking for thelaces of elaboration, puffed sleeves. I want tokeep close and use often words likeheavy, heart, joy, soon, and to cherishthe question mark and her bold sister

the dash. I want to write with quiet hands. Iwant to write while crossing the fields that arefresh with daises and everlasting and theordinary grass. I want to make poems while thinking ofthe bread of heaven and thecup of astonishment; let them be

songs in which nothing is neglected,not a hope, not a promise. I want to make poemsthat look into the earth and the heavensand see the unseeable. I want them to honorboth the heart of faith, and the light of the world;the gladness that says, without any words, everything.

January 18, 2012

The nutcrackers have retired to their sleeping quarters, preparing for their next holiday assignment. The sugar plums and candied jewels are snugly wrapped in tissue and put away also. As I wander around my home this morning and choose which elements of the holidays to re-pack and which pieces will keep us company until spring, I am suddenly aware of a shift in consciousness. I can choose to look at my tasks as chores that need to be done in a hurry to move on to the next thing on my to-do list. Or I can take my time and with gentle hands caress each object with gratitude for their part in our family holiday traditions.

Each and every nutcracker has a story to tell as they have been collected one by one, over the last thirty years. Our collection started in Germany on my first trip to Europe when I was 25. I bought a nutcracker for myself and my mother in the medieval walled village said to be the home of the earliest nutcrackers. My collection was handed down to my son when he was young and magically enchanted with these small and wondrous works of art. Every year he receives another for his growing collection and all the children wait in anticipation to welcome the newest into our family. A Chicago Bear nutcracker, a toymaker, a pirate and a blue and gold horseman (from the 4 horsemen ND football legend) are among the narrators that tell the story of his changing interests over the years.

This year a Wine-maker joined the ranks. Stevie has grown into a young man who is learning to appreciate wine and cigars as he and his father retire to our deck after dinner anytime the weather permits in our midwestern evenings. They don their jackets and boots and gather the cushions from the basement. Snow and bitter cold are the only determents to their ritual. They invite me to join them but I am happy to watch from inside a warm house as they share their stories and laughter.